Stubbornness and Daddy issues
by PersephoneQ
Summary: When Dean gets in an accident that leaves him with a concussion, he forgets everything except Hell. Unfortunately for the Winchesters, things are never just that simple. AU Season 5-ish.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Dean wasn't a particularly cautious or meticulous hunter, but he wasn't careless either. He left most hard hunts with a few cuts (as in "needs-stitches") and bruises (usually of the "hurts-so-bad-you-pass-out" variety) and occasionally a dislocated shoulder (and boy, were those fun). And with all their years of hunting and experience, these were practically "Hello-Kitty-Band-Aid" type problems to them. Therefore, the boys (and whatever father figure or reluctant ally they were currently relying on) didn't see the inside of a hospital room often. And of course, the one currently on the gurney had to be the toughest out of all of them, Dean Winchester.

Even though these were special circumstances and by no means routine, Sam and Bobby were still quite familiar with this type of thing. When Dean was hurt, everyone took up positions. Sam played the role of the anxious, worried brother, always on his toes and ready to do backflips for Dean in the hopes that he would wake up soon (for some reason, Dean was always out for at least a week anytime he got knocked unconscious by his wounds). Bobby was the gruff, but caring Uncle, who knew everything about anything and if you don't get this surgery right, son, he'll take it out your innards. Castiel somehow got stuck with the lead; the protective, yet somewhat awkward…friend, who, though coming and going at random intervals of which not a single nurse could distinguish a pattern or method, seemed to always be there when Dean whimpered or groaned in his sleep.

And, in all this, Crowley was the only one out of sync, somehow skimming in and out of his various roles and aliases. First he was a distant cousin, only coming in to check on "Lil' Deano, always the trouble maker". Then, he was the stepfather, staying for an hour or five, arguing, joking, and drinking with an unconscious, pale, skinny Dean. Even though Crowley was the only one doing the talking, it felt like a two-way conversation, and that made Crowley feel somewhat better about having such a lag in his mission to throw Lucifer back in the hole and take his place. The next time, he didn't even have a name. He didn't even bother registering in. He appeared, much like Castiel always did, next to the bed with a bottle of his second favorite wine in one hand (he was, unfortunately, out of Craig from the two or three other "meetings" he'd had with Dean) and a few glasses in the other.

It was midnight and everyone was asleep (Sam basically thrown over Dean, only halfway in his chair next to the bed, and Bobby laying back, hat drawn down a little to shadow his face), but Crowley didn't particularly care. If anything, he was happy; talking to Dean wasn't nearly as fun with an overprotective angel breathing over his shoulder, a worried brother censoring every word before it came out of his mouth, and Bobby making fun of him in the background. He pulled a chair out and set the glasses on the table, filling both of them to just below the brim. They had a lot to talk about and he had a feeling they would need it.

"So, Dean, how's it been? Getting better every day, correct? At least, that's what those lying, money-sucking doctors have the audacity to declare."

Crowley chuckled, but it was empty and bitter without anyone else to support it.

"Well, I suppose we could just move directly to things. I've decided that instead of trying to cut them off a month before the final battle, we should push for a week. They'll both have a lot on their plates at that point and I think the tornado that will be our entrance won't distract them too much. See, I talked with a friend of a friend of a friend's acquaintance and she said-"

Through the entire thing, Crowley had been steadfastly trying to ignore Dean's eyes and body in general, staring mostly into his drink or the window of Deans ER room. But now, when he looked to Dean, maybe in the hopes that he would wake up and try to shut him up with some smart aleck remark, Dean wasn't the hopeless, fragile puddle of white and purple and bright, bright red. He was a slightly less pale, slightly less hopeless, and definitely less fragile mess of blonde curls (Dean had naturally messy, slightly curly hair when he didn't gel it to straight, sleek perfection), prominent freckles, and bright, alert green eyes. Crowley jumped at the sight of the eyes, causing Deans pale and cracked lips to quirk into a smirk.

"Dean! Umm, you're awake!"

Dean rolled his eyes and sat up slightly to reach out with a shaky, newly bandaged hand to the second glass of wine Crowley had prepared. Admittedly, it was in fact for Dean, but Crowley had never expected Dean to wake up and ask for it. It made him sort of wish he'd never offered. But more than that, Crowley wondered if the alcohol would be good for him right now. I mean, what with all the internal bleeding and ruptured organs and all. If anything, alcohol would probably make the pain worse and likely slow down the healing process. And heaven help him if any of Deans "family" figured out that Crowley had somehow "slowed the healing process". Honestly, these people cared too much. Which was maybe why Crowley liked Dean better than his brother; his time in Hell had toughened him to the point where caring was a little bit too much to expect at this point.

"Sorry kiddo, no can do."

Dean glared and mouthed 'why not'.

"Because I said so", Crowley said with all the authority he could muster without being "harsh" or "rude". Dean apparently got very emotional and loopy on the type of pain killers the doctor prescribed him, as Sam had told him the day before. And if Dean even felt insulted, he often either lashed out or cried. Neither of which Crowley was used to dealing with, especially not from Dean Winchester.

For a brief instant, Crowley thought he saw Dean's eyes twinkle with a familiar mischief he hadn't seen in the man since his years in Hell. Then, Dean's glare softened to a deceptively reluctant pout and he lay back down with a soft thump that caused Sam to mumble and turn in his sleep (not that Dean noticed). Dean was silent for a moment, before his red bandaged hand appeared over the edge again and waved a hand at the other man to continue.

"Okay, well, just to fill you in on what's hap-pen…ing…..", Crowley trailed off as the sound of liquid splashing against the side of a glass (demons had excellent listening skills) and was about to turn around before a flash of red shot past his eyes and straight into the bed. Crowley leaned forward and was surprised to see Dean, lounging back in his ER room bed, sipping Cairn O' Mar straight from the bottle, and picking crossly at the bandages on his free arm (Dean had narrowly escaped being roasted alive in a witch-related explosion, which left him with almost life-threatening burns all over, a few broken bones, and a concussion. He was lucky to have been wearing a helmet [he'd been riding a stolen motorcycle to the hoodoo bomb site just before], or he'd have lost all his hair too).

"You know, this has to be the worst bottle of Marley I've ever had", Dean complained lightly, though his voice was rough and cracked from disuse. Crowley shook his head to rid him of the confusion and instead chuckled as a Dean coughed into a hand and opened it to reveal it overflowing with blood.

"Maybe that's because of all the blood you're backwashing into it, love. And it's not called 'Marley'; it's 'O' Mar'."

Dean snorted and wiped the blood in his hand onto his generic blue-and-purple-triangle styled hospital gown. He took another swig of "Marley", and then seemed to register his surroundings, as he set up more. He started with the white covers, metal bed-on-wheels, and the gown, which made his eye brows rise and cheeks redden in embarrassment and confusion. He looked around the room, with its plain white walls and medical equipment, all of which was connected to him through tubes and needles and wires. Finally, his eyes wandered to his brother, Sam, who was currently thrown over Dean's legs and dead to the world, and Bobby.

Dean's eyes widened and he hissed, drawing his legs out from under the sleeping man, throwing them over the side and pulling the wires and tubes and needles off him hurriedly in an attempt to get away from his family. Crowley, unfortunately, being the only one awake, had the task of catching and supporting Dean when he fell immediately after getting on his legs. Normally, this would have been hilarious to him, but now it was just as much a burden as the small blonde man clinging to him for dear life. Dean glared at the two humans, but it was with fear in his eyes.

"Crow, who are these guys? Where am I?"

Crowley almost dropped Dean at the nickname. It had been years (for both of them) since Dean had called him that and even then…

Crowley decided that Dean must have temporary memory loss, like the kind you get when you first wake up, and just needed to know what had happened to him to end up here and he'd be fine. Crowley sighed and was about to explain, but Dean's next words paralyzed Crowley from his head to his feet.

"Crow…Where's Dad? Where's Alastair?"


	2. Forever Stubborn

Crowley didn't waste any time in waking up Sam and Bobby, all the while doing his best to comfort Dean, even though he swore up and down that he didn't need it. Dean, meanwhile grabbed onto Crowley's arm with such strength that Crowley could hear his vessels bones break, since he couldn't stand on his own but refused to sit down. Deans eyes flitted this way and that as he observed his surroundings and bit his bottom lip bloody in silent worry and fear. Crowley noticed and knew that right now all Dean wanted was answers, answers he couldn't give until the others were awake an listening as well. In a weak attempt to soothe the small male (of he was a great deal smaller now, what with him living mainly off of IV food substitutes), he levitated the bottle from the floor, in a broken mess of glass and fruity red liquid, to Dean who grabbed the newly reformed bottle and chugged half of it down in one gulp. Crowley scoffed. The boy had no finesse.

Sam groaned when Crowley flicked his forehead to wake him up. "Crowley? What's going o-Dean! Oh my gosh, are you okay? Sit down, man, you can't support yourself yet."

Dean stiffed up and turned red in embarrassment at having his failures brought up to him. "Shut up, filthy human trash! You're not my Dad! Who are you to give me orders? Who are you at all! And how do you know my name?"

Bobby woke up immediately at the sound of Deans raging.

"Son? Jus' calm down-"

Dean didn't even turn from Sam's confused and hurt face as he sent both glasses of Cairn O' Mar hurling towards Bobby's head without blinking an eye. Bobby dodge the glasses and the room was silent a bit. When Dean finally spoke, it was in a whisper as cold as ice with words as cutting as knives.

"Don't ever tell me to calm down.", Dean turned now, and Bobby flinched at the pure hate in those bright green eyes. "I am not your 'son' and you will never be my Dad."

Crowley tried to step in and calm the furious young man before him and explain, but was thrown against the wall and pinned there in an instant, Bobby and Sam joining him seconds later. Dean towered over the three of them, a cold yet shaky smirk set on his face and his eyes slightly darker now. The pupils seemed bigger, almost suffocating the green irises. Dean stood firm, even though the bandages on his legs were almost soaked through with blood now that he was using no support.

"Speaking of, where is he? My Dad. Where is Alastair? I DEMAND TO KNO-"

Castile appeared behind the enraged, terrified man and Dean openly quaked with fear, immediately sensing the angels presence.

"Alastair is dead, Dean."  
Dean turned pale at this and his legs shook. He grabbed on to the table, swatting away the angels hands as he tried to help. Obviously, he'd forgotten his brother, "uncle", and demon friend (if you could call him that) because they were all released from his mental hold. Sam, not caring that his brother might very well kill him for even trying, jumped up and was about to run over and help his brother, but was stopped by Bobby's hand on his arm.

"Bobby-"

"No, boy. That isn't Dean."

Sam glared and opened his mouth to argue, but Bobby gestured with a nod to Dean. Dean, who was shaking so bad he had to hold on to the bed rail with both hands. Dean, who had his eyes scrunched closed tight, though tears still managed to leak out and run down his face like rude showers of rain, and was shanking his head back and forth lightly and mouthing the words "no" and "you're lying" over and over again. Dean, who when he opened those bright green eyes and looked straight at Sam...didn't have green eyes. His eyes were completely and totally black.

Sam backed away with fear and disgust written all over his face. "What are you? Get out of my brother!"

Dean glared at him and Sam suddenly felt something in his throat slowly be pulled apart or away. Sam started coughing and blood spilled out onto the floor, causing Bobby to panic.

Crowley suddenly disappeared from his place next to Bobby, rubbing the back of his head irritably. Now he stood next to Dean, a hand on his shoulder and a sympathetic frown on his face. Dean let Sam go and turned to Crowley with a hopeful little pout.

"He's not dead. Please, tell me it's not true...please..."

Crowley smiled a little and shook his head. Dean broke down into loud and completely broken sobs and grabbed Crowley into a hug as his legs finally gave out from under him. Crowley, surprisingly, let him, even going so far as to wrap an arm around Deans waist and hold his head to his shoulder. He thread the boys hair through his fingers and shushed him, whispering comforting things into the boys ear as he wept for his lost father. Through all of this, Cas, Sam, and Bobby just watched.

After a while, Dean cried himself to sleep on Crowley's shoulder, his arms thrown over his shoulder and his legs holding loosely to his waist. Crowley sat him back onto his hospital bed with Sam and Bobby's (reluctant help). It was obvious that Cas also knew what was going on so Crowley asked him to help explain to the two worried and confused family members what was going on.

"So, what's the story and why does my son have black eyes? Is it even Dean?", Bobby asked as soon as Dean was down. Crowley chuckled and quietly admired the fact that the old man was always to the point.

Crowley made a cup and more wine appear out of thin air and sat down for what he was sure would be a long and stressful talk. "Yes that's Dean, but he's not exactly your Dean right now."

"What do you mean?", Sam asked.

Crowley took a minute to gather and summon the right words, then gave up and decided to just give it to them straight. "Dean's soul is strong, stronger than any soul I've ever seen. He lasted thirty years on the rack before he gave in. And even then, he refused to torture anyone for about ten years. After twenty struggle-filled years, Alastair came to me wanting to make a deal-make Dean forget his life from before and he would give me anything I wanted.

Well, I agreed but when I went into Deans mind to disconnect him from his memories, I found that he was so broken that his memories were basically all that was left of him. Dean himself was long gone. So, I decided to rewind time a little to fix this, but I knew that if I did, Alastair would have to retreat him and we would be right back where we started. So, I had to rewind Deans clock all the way back to before he knew anything about demons-to his fourth birthday. In the end, Alastair got it even better than he asked for. He raised Dean like his own son and Dean never knew anything outside of Hell. That's probably why you frightened him so much; he's never seen a human before.

Anyway, bottom line, my guess is that Dean's accident caused him to go into a concussion so bad that it erased any memory from before or after that time. Any questions?"

"Yeah, just a few! First of all, if these are just his memories becoming his reality, why are his eyes black?"

Castiel answered this one, although quite sheepishly. "Getting Dean to leave Hell wasn't an easy thing. It took my garrison and I so long to get to Dean that by the time we got there, he was already a demon, and a very powerful one at that. He had grown so twisted and attached to his...father that he refused to leave Hell. We managed to cleanse most of his soul and drag him back, but I have always suspected that not even my powers and grace could clean all of that demonic influence out of him. At least a little must have remained. And if his mentality is brought back to Hell, his body won't be far behind. The demon inside of him will grow and overcome everything else until he is a demon again."

Though this, Sam had begun pacing and Bobby had a hand over his mouth and a brooding look on his face. "Is there anyway to prevent that?", Sam asked desperately.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, we need to get him to remember you and Bobby and everything he's done since he came back-if possible, everything he'd done before leaving as well. Hopefully, if we can do that, his soul will be strong enough to fight against his demon and destroy it. But we need to do this fast. Deans demon is growing stronger with each second that passes."

Bobby scoffed. "Yeah, no pressure!"

Crowley laughed tiredly and Bobby looked over at him.

"What did you get out of that deal of yours, anyway?"

Crowley's expression turned sour and his words bitter, but they felt almost...forced; faked. "I got played. After my venture into Deano here's mind, I found little to nothing worth savoring. And, since at that point, I pretty much had everything I could ever want, I decided that I would indulge myself and spend my 'wish' on asking what could make Dean so worth the effort, so valuable-you know, apart from the whole 'righteous man' thing-and Alastair said he would show me. So, I had to spend a whole thirty years pretending to be the twerps bloody Uncle!"

Sam smothered a giggle, but Bobby laughed openly at the dangerous demon. "That would explain why he liked you so much! Didja ever find out what made Dean so worthwhile."

Crowley glared heavily, but a small smile hid under the lip of his cup. "What do you thing, old git?"

Bobby knew that look, had seen it too many times not to, and knew the answer immediately the answer. But he didn't say it. Crowley thought maybe that's why he liked Bobby so much-he knew when to shut up.


End file.
